


In kind

by asyndese



Category: One Piece
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Denial of Feelings, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pining, Post-Time Skip, Questionable Motives, Sanji Vinsmoke more like Sanji CHAINsmoke am I right, Typical Machismo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21648007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asyndese/pseuds/asyndese
Summary: Zoro blinks for a moment, confused.“Are you trying to bribe me?”“Fucking hell, marimo. Don’t be so dense. I mean physical labor, some help in the kitchen. Services rendered. That sorta thing.” Sanji looks at him expectantly, arms crossed over his chest loosely, cigarette trapped between his straight white teeth.--In which Zoro is more perceptive than he seems and Sanji gets more than he bargained for.
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 15
Kudos: 130





	In kind

**Author's Note:**

> First ZoSan fic, aah, I am very nervous. It will be more explicit in later chapters, but for this chapter it's only PG. And yes, Sanji is very horny for Zoro. Make no mistake >:}

"Oi, marimo," Sanji asks unbidden, straight into Zoro's face. He's crouched before him, long legs all angled up with an empty glass of wine in one nimble hand. His other is fisted tight into the lush grass to keep himself from gracelessly tipping over.

"Wanna do it?"

"Huh?" Zoro replies smartly to this entirely unprompted question, his tankard half-way to his mouth before he lowers it and stares at Sanji as if he has never seen the man before. Around them, the villagers are dancing in waves of tanned skin and colourful flower wreaths and the large bonfire in the middle of the clearing casts long shadows over the grass and onto Sanji's face. His nose looks longer like that, the curl of his brow hidden, facial hair darker. A predator waiting to pounce.

"I asked," Sanji flicks a pink tongue over the corner of his mouth, his visible eye cast down before it comes up in a flash of clear blue. "If you wanna do it. With me. To be precise."

"What, fight?"

Sanji pulls back as if offended. By what, Zoro has no idea.

"You idiotic mule," he spits.

"Hey now," Zoro says and okay, that one hurt. "What the fuck?" 

"Nevermind, you probably wouldn't know how to anyway." Sanji sways up into a stand, looking down at Zoro with a cold, harsh expression on his face, one Zoro knows is but a front to hide whatever is truly going on inside that dumb blond head of his. "Can't believe I actually considered it." Sanji presses two fingers against his own forehead in a dramatic fashion, half-laughing and it's evident he's drunk as hell, his center of gravity tilting to the side before he catches himself with a sidestep.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," Zoro rumbles and finishes the rest of his beer in one big swallow. He wipes the frothy moisture from his face with his sleeve in what he has no doubt Sanji will term an uncouth manner. The cook is still standing there and shooting daggers with his eyes at him, for whatever reason.

"I'm not surprised, you uncultured barbarian." _Ahh_ , there it is just as predicted. Either way, Zoro isn't impressed with Sanji's attitude either.

"Sit down and drink if you're gonna be a pain in the ass," Zoro orders him by pulling at the cook's belt. Sanji crumbles easily, falling with a huff beside him, those endless legs sprawled apart and Zoro presses one of the bottles of rum he's hoarded around him into Sanji's unresisting hand.

"You're the pain," Sanji pouts but he seems a bit mollified with the drink at least, his lips slotted over the bottle's opening before making a face. "This pisswater is awful."

"Just drink it and shut up already." It's a mild night, the stars twinkling high above and Zoro could do without Sanji bitching at him.

"Tch," Sanji clicks his tongue but he doesn't say more, just watches the bodies twirl past them in complicated patterns to celebrate their freedom from slavery. In the distance, Zoro can hear Luffy give one of his belly laughs that manages to drown out even the drums.

Usually their fights start for a reason, silly reasons, sure, like Sanji denying Zoro sake when he is really thirsty for it or when Zoro leaves his dirty socks lying around. Or even when Zoro can't look away from the absurdity of Sanji's curled eyebrow without insulting it. But this unprovoked outburst is a complete mystery to him.

"Thought you'd be chasing tail," Zoro comments after a while just to fill the awkward silence between them. Not that he cares particularly, but--

"I just did," Sanji whines and tosses the half-empty rum bottle aside to fall back into the grass. His voice is muffled from behind the arm he throws over his eyes in the practiced fashion of a drama queen. Which he is, to Zoro's eternal chagrin. "And I got rejected as usual."

"Fuck, cook. Don't be such a pansy," Zoro laughs in a bark and refills up his own tankard with rum, ready for something stronger to get him through the night.

"Just find one with low enough standards if you're that desperate."

Sanji's kick is weak and off-center, more of a nudge against Zoro's shoulder than swift vengeance to the head. Sanji really has no stamina when it comes to alcohol and Zoro shoves his leg away with ease.

"No need to take it out on me, pervert. Brothel's that way," he gestures vaguely in the direction of the town. Or where he thinks it is, anyway. 

"I'm not into paid love," Sanji grouses, his one eye glaring at Zoro from underneath his elbow. "Or pity fucks."

"Oh yeah, that's right. You want romance. Flowers and candles and all that nonsense."

Sanji is quiet for a moment and Zoro thinks he must have fallen asleep to not have roused to the obvious provocation.

"What's so wrong about that?" _Aw crap_ . They are entering dangerous waters if the usually stoic cook starts to actually cry like a baby lamb over failed flirtations. Definitely _not_ drunk enough, then.

Zoro ruffles Sanji's blond hair in the hopes the hurt look vanishes from his face. He isn't so good with feelings at the best of times, but fuck, now is certainly not the right moment for some overdue heart-to-heart with the cook. Not when they are surrounded by free booze and dance and people's laughter.

"C'mon, drink with me. Enjoy the night." He tries anyway, poking Sanji's narrow hip with his finger and Sanji's adam's apple bobs as he swallows before he nods and pushes himself into a sitting position beside him. That’s better.

"Where's this pisswater of yours, then?"

"That's the spirit," Zoro hands him his own tankard, slapping the cook's back.

"Promise me to never attempt word plays again, you moss haired bastard." Zoro merely grins and it's not before long that Sanji is singing along to Usopp and Brook's broken tune when they join them a little while later. There’s a sparkle in his eyes, his face flushed with excitement and good mirth. By the time they all stumble back to their ship in the early morning hours, Sanji is all boyish smiles and macho gait again, smoking like a chimney with his hands buried deep in his pockets. Whatever that weird encounter on that Summer Island was about, Zoro decides it does not require further analysis.

~*~

Of course things are never as easy as Zoro would like them to be. Just when he’s about to have a real swell time with a good bottle of sake in the afternoon sun the following week, someone has to piss on his good mood. Point in case: The damn ero-cook who slaps his hand against the wall to block his path. There is the usual murderous intent crackling around him when he's found something to be angry about. 

"Oi," Zoro huffs and forces his fingers to slowly unclench from around Wado's heft. His knuckles ache with how hard he's gripped it in that split moment between surprise and attack. But it's just Sanji, annoying him as usual with his antics.

"The fuck do you think you're doing, cactus brain?" Sanji says, eyes narrowed.

"Don't know what you’re talking about, asshole," Zoro grumbles, keeping his other hand carefully behind his back. Against his palm, the bottle of sake is cool and calming.

"I'll fillet you for sneaking around the kitchen again."

"Shit belongs to us all."

"No, it doesn't," Sanji argues and takes a step forward, a clear sign it is a green GO for a little fight in the galley. They miraculously don't damage any of the interior, only a few pots and pans clank to the floor and the table topples over with a bang. 

The heavy thump of Sanji's feet and Zoro's powerful evasive dashes accompany their yelled insults like a beat giving drum. During all this commotion, Zoro never lets go of the bottle, though the sake must have warmed up by the time they both start panting. 

Sweat stings his good eye, a reminder of how thirsty he is. For alcohol or water, at this point it doesn't matter because the cook wouldn't let him have either purely out of spite, the bastard.

"Ero-cook," Zoro says, cheeks warm from the rush of a good squabble. There is no winner here, not with the crowded space of the galley and Zoro's reluctance to draw his swords against his nakama.

“Marimo,” Sanji replies cockily and loosens the knot of his tie before he lowers himself into a stance that Zoro recognizes as one of his signature moves, one meant to finish an opponent swiftly and decisively. 

"Don't make me," Zoro warns, truly angry now. Wado inches out of its sheath with the flick of his thumb. It comes as a surprise when Sanji hesitates at his tone, seemingly heeding the warning for once. Instead of a scathing retort, he straightens and lifts his hands in an uncharacteristic gesture of accommodation. Zoro becomes immediately suspicious. If Sanji is one thing, it's stubborn and he never gives an inch if he can help it. Especially not where Zoro is concerned. 

But the cook just brushes his blond fringe back and out of his sweaty forehead, revealing a glimpse of that elusive second half of his face. 

"Alright," he says huskily, far too calm for Zoro’s tastes. His hair falls back like a curtain as Sanji reaches into his back pocket for a cigarette like they had been pleasantly conversing, not trading kicks and blows. 

"Alright?" Zoro narrows his eye.

"Yeah, you can have it." Sanji doesn't look up as he lights his cigarette with one hand curled around it, obscuring mouth and jaw. With the click of the lighter, the flame illuminates his face in an eerie hue that makes the shadows of his pale eyelashes seem longer.

"But?" he prods. Zoro remains frozen in his defensive stance, Wado singing to taste blood, to finally strike. With Sanji, there is always a catch. He doesn't trust this sudden change in demeanor at all but he’s tired of fighting too.

The pocket lighter vanishes in Sanji's back pocket as quickly as it appeared and when Sanji finally exhales, he turns his head politely to the side. The smoke curls and hovers in tendrils over his shoulder before he addresses Zoro again with a strange glint in his eye.

"But it'll cost you." He points at him with the cigarette squeezed between two fingers.

"Huh? Like what? You know I don't have any money." 

"Tch, how unimaginative." Sanji clicks his tongue and Zoro asks "What?", a little affronted by the dismissive attitude.

“You can pay me in kind.”

Zoro blinks for a moment, confused. 

“Are you trying to bribe me?”  
  
“Fucking hell, marimo. Don’t be so dense. I mean physical labor, some help in the kitchen. Services rendered. That sorta thing.” Sanji looks at him expectantly, arms crossed over his chest loosely, cigarette trapped between his straight white teeth.

“Nah,” Zoro shakes his head and finally shifts into a more relaxed stance. “I’m not interested in whoring myself out to you.” 

He opens the bottle in his hand as he has wanted to do for the last half hour, daring Sanji to stop him with a grin over the lid. The sake is indeed warm, but it is still good, a little taste of heaven that trickles down his parched throat. Some of it spills over in his haste, rolling down his chin to the hollow of his collarbone. It’s the expensive stuff Sanji thinks Zoro doesn’t know about.  
  
“Oi, you prick,” Sanji hisses and Wado’s blade gleams like lightning between them when he draws it swiftly after all. Its pointy tip hovers a few millimeters above his heart. It stops Sanji in his momentum forward quite effectively while Zoro finishes the rest of the sake in one long gulp, his eye never leaving the cook’s. Once he’s done, he tosses him the empty bottle and sheathes Wado in the customary manner. Careful and precise like his sensei had taught him so many years ago. 

“Thanks for the drink, shitty cook.” 

“You entitled, honorless thief,” Sanji spits and throws the bottle to the ground with a clang. There is bitterness and disappointment weighing down the cook’s voice, and its intensity zigs like lightning over Zoro’s skin. That’s a new insult, one that stings but above all, he cannot let such accusations remain unchallenged between them. 

“What did you say?” He half-turns. With his good eye, he stares over his shoulder at the limber figure. Sanji does not cower, never has.  
  
“You heard me.” 

Zoro growls because he did and he wishes he hadn’t. “I am not honorless. Or entitled.”

“Is that so? Wannabe swordsman slinking around the galley like a common street rat,” Sanji mocks, encompasses him with one judging gesture of his elegant hand. “Always taking, never giving. Where is the honor in _that_? You’ll never defeat Mihawk if you continue to--”

Sanji never gets to finish his sentence. 

The silent breeze of Wado slicing the air and the cook’s stupid signature tie shuts the idiot right up as the fluttering piece of fabric neatly folds itself into a silky heap between his feet. The cook’s eye is comically wide, mouth half-open and he touches his chest to find the shirt gaping from the clean cut. When he looks down in disbelief, sticky red glistens on his fingertips.

Time seems to come to a standstill as Zoro eases out of his offensive stance slowly. He did not mean to actually injure the other man, no matter how shallow the cut is. But he miscalculated the distance in the haze of anger -- no, not anger, _hurt_. He was hurt by the callous words and he should have better control over his mind and body than to let the cook get under his skin like that. 

“ _Cook_ ,” Zoro starts and stretches out his hand in silent apology, moving forward and his boot connects with the empty sake bottle, sending it rolling in a loud clatter over the floor boards. He winces. 

The cook’s eye lifts from his bloodied fingers to Zoro’s own, his face paler than usual. “Proving my point nicely, weren’t you,” he says quietly. It is more deafening than if he had yelled. 

Zoro wants to take it back suddenly. All of it. The cut, the fight, his refusal to work for the alcohol he keeps stealing nearly every day. He wants to restore that trust and honor he so selfishly tossed away with every missing bottle of wine. He's better than this.

“Get out,” Sanji eventually murmurs. 

The tendrils of smoke from the cook’s cigarette drift up lazily towards the ceiling, a quiet witness to Zoro’s hesitation and shame as he lowers his outstretched arm. 

There’s nothing he can reply to that without sounding contrite. So he doesn't, just kicks the bottle on the ground for good measure and slams the galley door behind him. 


End file.
